


in the arms of the same sea

by noahfics



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Boys In Love, Established Relationship, Kuroo has a hard time adjusting to change, M/M, Trans Kozume Kenma, Trans Male Character, Uncertanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 03:06:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9529073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noahfics/pseuds/noahfics
Summary: "To leave behind high school is hard enough. To leave behind volleyball—at least, volleyball with people he knows inside out, volleyball with Kenma—is even harder. He’s had to cut down his hours at work to just two four-hour shifts a week. The routine he knows, the routine that he, as a human craves is slipping away from him."change is hard for kuroo. luckily, kenma is steadfast beside him through it all.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i've been in a lil post bakery au slump, so this fic is a sort of warm up for me to get into Bigger Exciting Projects (!!) and hopefully combat that slump somewhat. third year uncertain scared of change kuroo is the best kind of kuroo and i can relate to him so hard. kenma is also like super mega trans in this fic because i love to project. it's not a big deal but it Is A Big Deal. trans ken owns my ass  
> title is from same sea by lights !!

Tetsurou’s eyelids are fluttering as he fights sleep, much like he used to do during childhood.

He lays with his head rested on Kenma’s thigh, not speaking but not needing to. He is well aware that the physical closeness his childhood best friend prefers to maintain is minimal, but Kenma seems to understand that he needs to be close, so he doesn’t ask Tetsurou to get off of him. Tetsurou appreciates this immensely.

 

The nuances of Tetsurou’s life, they’re _strange_. The shift had initially seemed gradual, bearable, though as of late, it’s _so much._

How exactly Tetsurou finds himself in the midst of such immense turmoil and change, he doesn’t know. It had been expected and anticipated incrementally, but so many of the carefully constructed cornerstones of his life are crackling, crumbling, ridden with fault lines. Change, changes, whatever, they're all coming at once.

 

 

Kenma isn’t one for touch, something that Tetsurou had figured out not long into their friendship; it hadn’t taken many of the sideways glances and slight recoils from Tetsurou’s touch for him, in his childhood, to realize that Kenma didn’t like physicality in the way that his sister and brother did.

There is approximately no reminiscence of that, though, because lately Tetsurou is _constantly_ touching Kenma—head on his lap, hands brushing, pinkies linked together—as if the moment that he stops, Kenma will cease to exist.

It’s ridiculous, probably, but it reassures Tetsurou that his boyfriend isn’t going anywhere, and while his boyfriend doesn’t always enjoy touching, more than likely, he doesn’t try to stop Tetsurou.

* * *

“Isn’t it strange?” Tetsurou poses the question amidst the gentle rocking of the train car. It’s a Wednesday, not so crowded that they’re made to stand, but crowded enough so that the passenger to Kenma’s left leans against him, and he, in turn, leans into Tetsurou.

Kenma, not particularly caring to make conversation on a semi-crowded train car, doesn’t acknowledge the question (Tetsurou does have to wonder if Kenma knows what he’s referencing, though he suspects not). Tetsurou drops it, too, and they fall into silence.

Three stops and half a block later, Tetsurou brings up the same question, cutting into the silence as he always does. “It _has_ to feel strange, right?”

Kenma’s expression is simultaneously bored and inquisitive, and Tetsurou doesn’t understand how he manages that, but he offers an explanation in any case.

“I—Playing volleyball without me,” he offers. “Doesn’t that feel _off_?”

Tetsurou can imagine that without himself, Kai, and Yaku, the dynamic of the team would change, and while he doesn’t doubt their ability to play without the third years, change is still hard.

Furthermore, Kenma has expressed that the absence of their captain means that it’s him that the first years come to when they have an issue, and he just doesn’t have the energy to withstand that.

“It’s… different,” Kenma supplies.

Tetsurou hums in acknowledgement. “It’s strange for me, too,” he says, even though Kenma doesn’t ask him how it was. He suspects Kenma knows this already, anyway.

“Maybe I can stay during practice tomorrow,” Tetsurou adds after a contemplative moment.

Kenma shrugs. “Maybe you can.”

 

* * *

Tetsurou knows every inch of Kenma’s bedroom just as well as (if not better than) his own, despite all the changes it has undergone through the years.

White paint peels above the closet, the corner of a poster depicting several _Pokémon_ curls in on itself, and Kenma’s jersey is balled up in the corner, mere inches away from the laundry basket. (Kenma has _always_ been negligent when it comes to putting his clothes away). Glow in the dark star stickers placed there by a twelve year old Tetsurou dot the white ceiling, making themselves known in the dark of Kenma’s bedroom.

Tetsurou is reasonably certain that Kenma is asleep; his breathing is heavy, one of the only sounds in the cramped bedroom. The atmosphere of the bedroom is strange; there’s a certain feeling that this time of night gives off, and Tetsurou isn’t quite sure what’s real and what isn’t.

The first rays of sun welcome Sunday morning, beginning to make themselves apparent through the panes of the singular window in Kenma’s bedroom, casting a gentle glow on the floor.

Tetsurou sighs and lets a hand come to rest behind his head. He’s already recently flipped the pillow from the warm side to the cool. He’s not going to get back to sleep.

February is cold, and the fresh snowfall blanketing the ground would only serve to prove that, but the Kozume house is always kept unseasonably warm. Much like his parents, Kenma is constantly cold, so that must account for it.

Still, Tetsurou can’t get comfortable in the tiny twin bed. He shifts so that he’s lying on his side, back facing Kenma, and lets his eyes drift closed. (There’s no point in being awake if Kenma isn’t, too.)

“Kuro,” Kenma speaks quiet, raspy from sleep. “You _need_ to stop worrying.”

“I’m not,” Tetsurou lies.

“You keep moving _,_ ” Kenma sighs.

Tetsurou speaks quietly, but still insistent: “maybe I just can’t sleep, then.” (He can’t see Kenma, but he knows that his boyfriend is frowning—he can picture it exactly.)

“Maybe,” Kenma agrees. “If you weren’t capable of falling asleep _anywhere_. Go back to sleep, Kuro.”

Tetsurou flirts with the idea of retorting, saying he does _not_ fall asleep anywhere, but then he recalls all the times he’s dozed on the train, at the lunch table, and sitting perfectly upright on the couch, and he decides that maybe Kenma isn’t wrong, after all.

And Tetsurou tries to sleep, if only so that Kenma can get some sleep, too, but it just isn’t happening.

“Kenma?” he asks into the otherwise silent room. He’s not sure how long has passed, exactly, and though he’s sure his boyfriend isn’t asleep, he doesn’t answer.

“ _Kenma_ ,” he coaxes again, nudging a knee up against Kenma’s back.

“I’m going to give you three seconds to tell me why whatever this is can’t wait until later,” Kenma says, still just as groggily as before, “before I make you sleep on the floor.”

“You love me, don’t you?” Tetsurou asks this before he even thinks about it, thinks about how needy he sounds.

“I love you a little less right now,” Kenma deadpans. “ _Please_ go back to bed.”

 

So Tetsurou does; not with ease, but he does with an arm wrapped around Kenma’s waist and with thoughts of college and of being without Kenma and of no more volleyball and of change, change, _change_ , flittering busily around his skull.

 

He doesn’t feel well-rested when he wakes up for the second time, but Kenma is awake before he is, which is good. He doesn’t think he could force himself to sleep a _third_ time.

“You look like you slept well,” he teases, gazing down at Kenma’s tired eyes.

“I didn’t,” Kenma intones back. Tetsurou can’t hold back his smirk.

They remain for a few moments longer, legs intertwined under a patchwork quilt. Tetsurou tries to kiss Kenma, who draws back and says he’s definitely not going to kiss Tetsurou back until he brushes his teeth.

“Kuro,” Kenma sighs, words almost lost. “I need to get up.”

“And leave me?” Tetsurou groans, always melodramatic. “In my time of need? So harsh, Kenma.”

Despite the protest on Tetsurou’s part, Kenma stands at his dresser, back facing outwards, and tugs his shirt over his head. He tosses it beside his jersey in the corner and tugs his binder over his chest.

“Looks hard to get on,” Tetsurou observes.

Kenma casts a glance over his shoulder, blindly reaching for an appropriate shirt. “It is,” he admits, turning to face Tetsurou once more.

Kenma blinks like he’s expecting Tetsurou to get up without being asked, which he most certainly will _not_ do.

“If you don’t get up, I’m not making you breakfast,” he states plainly, leaning against the closet door.

 

Over breakfast, Kenma sits across the table from Tetsurou, who’s still so thoroughly exhausted that he can hardly eat his food, let alone make conversation.

And though he’s exhausted to his bones, Tetsurou loves this, loves spending his free weekends at the Kozume house. Their normal weekend routine, the staying up until they’re physically unable, the breakfasts that they share once Kenma’s parents have gone to work, and the shared silences are _everything._ He doesn’t know how he’s going to fare without them, once he leaves for school.

“Hey, Kenma,” he says, words half-mumbled. “Thanks for having me over.”

Kenma frowns, not unhappy, but uncertain. “You come over every weekend,” he points out. “It’s nothing new.”

“I know,” Tetsurou agrees, shrugging. “But I really appreciate it.” He hesitates a moment before adding, “I’m really going to miss this, you know.”

And it’s slightly difficult for him not to feel guilt for bringing up his impending move, this shift into a life other than volleyball practice and Kenma and Kenma’s house and high school, but it does neither of them good to pretend it isn’t happening, so he likes to bring it up from time to time.

Kenma never acts overly happy about this change, but he never acts overly happy about anything, so Tetsurou doesn’t take it personally.

* * *

 

The sun shines—not strong, but it shines, and Tetsurou sits underneath the rays with his knees pressed up to his chest.

“Lev took my bag home yesterday,” Kenma says, letting out a quiet sigh. “Again.”

“You’ve got to start locking it up,” Tetsurou suggests. (He’d wondered why Kenma hadn’t carried his bag along on the train. Now he knows.)

“I’ve got to lock Lev out of the clubroom,” Kenma deadpans. Tetsurou doesn’t think he’s kidding, truthfully.

“Hmm,” Tetsurou hums. “That’s one way to handle it.”

“The _only_ way.”

Tetsurou’s shirt rides up in the back, and he shifts so that he lies on his back, sprawled out on the Kozume’s back yard deck. It’s recently been closed in, so despite the snowfall lining the tree branches, the two remain dry.

Kenma, on the other hand, sits in the wicker chair with his legs folded, looking at Tetsurou with an expression that he can’t quite decipher; he deems it the intersection of fondness and fascination.

The sky is cloudless, but Tetsurou gazes up nonetheless. When it _is_ cloudy, he likes to point out shapes he interprets to Kenma, who always reiterates that they’re just clouds, not really cats, or mountains, or whatever Tetsurou may deem them to be.

And yet, every time, Kenma’s eyes crinkle slightly, and even though he says it’s childish, he never asks Tetsurou to stop.

“This is nice,” Tetsurou says into the open air, letting his eyes flutter closed. It’s a nice break from the chaos of the end of third year, of his parents trying to plan his graduation party, of all the college preparations and of the shopping for his new dorm. It’s slow and easy, and Tetsurou thinks he could stay here forever.

Kenma doesn’t speak, but when Tetsurou reaches a hand out, he takes it and tugs lightly, beckoning his boyfriend to join him.

The large oak tree in the yard, the same oak tree Tetsurou had fallen out of several times as a child, is void of all leaves and sways in the wind, slightly lonesome. Despite the changes to the Kozume house (the closed in deck, the interior changes, the changes to Kenma’s bedroom,) Tetsurou has always liked to look out and see that tree. He’d like, even more, to sit up there with Kenma once more before he leaves.

Tetsurou, as he is so used to doing, begins a conversation once more. “I’m glad that we’ll be able to facetime once I’m at school.”

Kenma’s head is rested on Tetsurou’s shoulder so that he can still smell the conditioner Kenma had used that morning, and he breathes in slow. Kenma flinches slightly, but relaxes.

“Me too,” he agrees.

“It’ll only be a year,” Tetsurou points out. “Just a year that we have to get through.” He’s not entirely sure who he’s trying to convince here, but he thinks that they could both use the reassurance.

“Yeah, it will.”

Tetsurou stretches the fabric at the bottom of Kenma’s binder between his thumb and index finger, releases it, and instead rubs slow circles into his hipbones with the pad of his thumb. Kenma relaxes into the familiar touch, and despite the fact that his own house is down the street, he feels incredibly at home.

“It’ll be good when you visit,” he says.

“Yeah, it will,” Kenma repeats, stifling a yawn in the crook of his elbow.

* * *

 

“Kenma is _not_ going to forget about you. There’s not a chance.”

“Naturally,” Tetsurou sighs, dragging out the ending syllable. “I would like to agree, Sawamura. But he’s not going to have an easy time next year. He’s going to be busy; he’s going to have volleyball and his classes are—”

“ _Kuroo,_ ” his friend cuts off. He doesn’t appreciate it in the moment, but it’s certainly necessary to stop him before his train of thought goes too far (which, it already has, but at least Daichi is trying.) “You have hard classes this year _and_ you’re the captain of your team. And you didn’t forget about him, did you?”

“No, I—” Tetsurou admits. He settles his phone between his shoulder and his cheek, so that he can shift positions.

“He’s _not_ ,” Daichi says definitively. “You’re going to work yourself up over nothing.”

Tetsurou frowns, settling against the headboard of his bed. “I think I’m past that point.”

“I think you are,” Daichi mirrors. “Why don’t you give that boyfriend of yours a call, make sure he still remembers who you are.”

“You are the _worst_ , Sawamura. Just the worst.”

* * *

 

“You’ll come visit me, won’t you?” Tetsurou is selfish for asking. He knows this. Kenma likely thinks, this, and yet it doesn’t stop him from asking the question nonetheless.

On Kenma’s brightly lit computer screen, a space documentary prattles on. Neither of them pay attention, and neither of them turn it on.

Kenma shrugs. “I don’t like taking the train alone.”

Tetsurou, despite the previous lack of effort, finds himself having to put all of his effort into keeping his shoulders for slumping.

“Oh.”

“But, I’ll make exceptions for you,” Kenma adds, and Tetsurou visibly relaxes.

“I don’t think I could survive without it,” Tetsurou says. Kenma audibly groans, eliciting a puff of laughter on Tetsurou’s part.

“Disgusting, Kuro.”

“Disgusting,” Tetsurou repeats. “But you love me.”

“Do I?” Kenma can’t help but tease.

“You do,” Tetsurou affirms. “And I love you. So much so, that—”

Kenma tenses for a moment as Tetsurou comes closer, bridging the small gap between them, but relaxes moments later, letting a hand rest against the slight slope of Tetsurou’s chest.

When they come apart, foreheads pressed together still, Kenma mumbles, “how’s the documentary looking?”

Tetsurou learns that the moon is, as it stands, 4.5 billion years old and that the planet Venus is second brightest only to the moon. He also learns that he’s going to have to get used to watching documentaries on his own laptop, without Kenma beside him. Somehow, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to do it.

* * *

 

Tetsurou has an affinity for the sky, has an affinity for watching the shifting sunsets, watching clouds drift lazily across the vast blue expanse, has an affinity for feeling the sun on his back.

Tetsurou has an affinity for Kenma, too, for lacing their fingers together and for leading his boyfriend, for showing him what he loves.

Tetsurou gives a longing glance out the window towards the sky, where the sun is beginning its nightly, but still remarkable, descent.

“Could you imagine doing the exact same thing every day?” he asks Kenma, who sits across the room from him, sprawled out on the bed.

“Probably.”

Tetsurou frowns, but doesn’t know exactly what answer he’d expected.

“I couldn’t,” he says, even though Kenma hasn’t asked. “You’d have to grow tired of it at some point, wouldn’t you?”

“Hmm,” Kenma hums. “I suppose so.”

“You’d have to,” Kenma repeats. “Nobody could stand doing that.”

“Humans like routine. It’s our nature,” Kenma points out. Tetsurou follows his gaze to the glow in the dark stars dotting his ceiling.

“I guess.” Tetsurou pauses. “Change is good, though. Not too much of it, not all at once, but it’s good.”

He’s been trying to convince himself of this. Change barrels into him, overtakes him in a whirlwind, and leaves him floundering. He doesn’t often lose his composure, but the last several weeks, he’s been slipping.

To leave behind high school is hard enough. To leave behind volleyball—at least, volleyball with people he knows inside out, volleyball with _Kenma—_ is even harder. He’s had to cut down his hours at work to just two four-hour shifts a week. The routine he knows, the routine that he, as a human craves is slipping away from him.

“You get used to it,” Kenma reassures, as if he can read Tetsurou’s mind. “You always do.”

And Tetsurou knows this, at least rationally. Kenma knows this, too, probably better than anyone.

As the two aged past childhood, Tetsurou had observed Kenma grappling with his sense of self, had witnessed his highest peaks and deepest lows.

Change was ( _still is_ ) synonymous with Kenma. And if Kenma can deal with it, he knows he can, too.

“I definitely will,” he says. And then, “hey Kenma?”

His boyfriend responds with a mere glance, one raised eyebrow. Abandoning the open textbook in front of him, Tetsurou reaches for his hand, interlacing slender fingers with his own.

And Kenma, Tetsurou knows, is his favorite constant. He’s steady in many aspects; hair always soft, always in front of his eyes, he always smells of laundry detergent, he’s always cold (Tetsurou is always warm, always tries to keep Kenma warm, too), and always loves Tetsurou.

And Tetsurou _also_ knows that a year is nothing, that he’ll come home at every chance he gets, and that Kenma will visit him too—maybe not at _every_ chance he gets, but often still.

They won’t have every day, won’t have train rides to school or volleyball practice, won’t have every Sunday morning, but they’ll have other routines; choppy skype calls, Tetsurou picking Kenma up at the train station, and trying to fit into Tetsurou’s cramped dorm room. And they’ll be okay, naturally. More than okay.

He presses a slow, chaste kiss to the outside edge of Kenma’s lips, but doesn’t pull away completely.

“Hi, Kenma.”

“Hi, Kuro.”

It’s slow, gentle, and Kenma is pliant. He follows along, lets a hand splay out just beneath Tetsurou’s shoulder blade. The room is silent until they pull apart and Kenma lets out a slightly embarrassed laugh, letting his hair fall to conceal the pretty pink blush settling into his cheeks.

* * *

 

“Last breakfast together.”

“I’m not _dying_! We can still have breakfast together when I’m home.”

Kenma is merely poking fun at Tetsurou’s flair for the dramatic over the past several weeks. He knows this, absolutely, and he still can’t help but defend himself.

“We can skype next weekend and eat breakfast together,” Tetsurou points out. “You can see my roommate, then, too! It’ll be fun. We can make a routine of it!”

“I’m going to be catching up on sleep,” Kenma says dryly. It’s a not so subtle tease for all the sleep Tetsurou has caused him to lose; middle of the night phone calls and the inability to stay still in bed have certainly wrecked his boyfriend’s sleeping schedule. They haven’t been kind to his own, either.

“The week after, definitely,” Tetsurou says.

Kenma nods, contemplative. “Week after,” he parrots. “It’ll be like you’re still here.”

And it won’t, not completely, but it’ll certainly be _enough,_ it’ll certainly be adequate until he can see Kenma in person, once again.

“Something like that,” he agrees. And then, after a moment of hesitation, he adds: “We’re going to be just fine, aren’t we?”

Unlike the last several weeks, it’s not a question, but a statement, and a comforting one at that. They’re _fine._ They’ll be fine, have always been fine. And a year, in the grand scheme of things, is absolutely nothing.

“I’ve been telling you that all along. So has Sawamura. And Bokuto. And—”

“Okay! Okay!” Tetsurou raises his hands in defense. “I think I get the message, Kenma.”

Their breakfast isn’t anything spectacular; just a bowl of cereal each, but as Tetsurou sits beside his boyfriend, as they touch at the knees, and as he gazes out to the rising sun and its golden light, he feels overwhelmingly comfortable.

Because maybe _he_ can’t do the same thing every day. Maybe he can’t be here every day, seeing Kenma. But the sun, as he had pointed out the month prior, _does_ do the same thing every day. Dutifully, it rises and sets, bringing with it brilliant hues of gold, purple, and blue. And he and Kenma are going to be looking at the same sun, at the same sky, whether they’re together in Kenma’s back yard or separated by hundreds of kilometers.

And if he can’t find comfort in that, he doesn’t know _how_ he’ll find it elsewhere.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks a ton for reading..! comments/kudos/bookmarks are my lifeline  
> total side note: i listened to the sims 2 soundtrack the whole time i wrote this and let me tell you how ready i am to reinstall that game. (hint: VERY READY)


End file.
